


for the heart I never had

by captainhurricane



Category: Berserk
Genre: Gen, M/M, it's only shippy if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:15:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainhurricane/pseuds/captainhurricane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A legend, yell the men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the heart I never had

**Author's Note:**

> another older fic from '12.

A legend, yell the men. A Messiah, yell the women. Our white falcon, yell them all. The demons or the Apostoles do not yell, they watch and squirm and move, beautiful in their terrible unnaturalness. The army move like the wings of the hawk they are following, terrifying and strong, unyielding. Griffith is on the lead, but is he the same? A living legend, would someone mumble if asked, voice low in prayer and head bowed in respect towards their saviour. Bloodied and full of bodies is the way Griffith has walked to get here, to ride through the shining gates of his kingdom; does his heart beat with joy now, is there a flicker of smile on the doll-like face? 

The others walk and ride and slither behind him, openly worshipping, bowing down to their new king. And king he is, this tall figure in white, a true knight in his shining armour, his hair a waterfall of white clouds. Hypnotizing, might Sonia whisper in awe, her grin childish and mind not clouded by the carnage around her. Princess Charlotte would say no words, her words taken away by the night when her prince (now a king, she has to remind herself) and his deadly beast appeared near her window. One would say she is silly and naive to trust a man who once took her so forcefully, crushed her against his chest, eyes wild and breathing harsh. But she doesn't recall that night at all, years ago when Griffith was behind her window, soaking wet and desperate. Does he need me? She dares not to ask, but she does follow. 

There is a heart beating under Griffith's armored chest, a brand-new heart and a brand-new body but nothing moves behind glassy blue eyes. Sonia calls him your Majesty, your highness and just Griffith, when feeling particularly sassy. Princess Charlotte calls him her fairytale prince (silently, to herself, when he doesn't hear but that's what he is to her, beautiful and ethereal and godly). 

Griffith calls himself by no names at all. He spares no thought to what his minions (that they are, his army, his wings, it's not like he has friends) think of him, other than their complete and utter respect towards him and the shine of their new kingdom. If Griffith were as he was a long time ago, he would recall his name being called in many ways, desperately, admiringly, he would recall the days when he forgot the castle in the faraway-light and be just himself. But Griffith is not who he once was.

 

* * * 

 

In the stormy seas they sail, their little ragtag crew, whole only when they're together. Guts finds himself sometimes remembering the younger days, Judeau and his knives, Pippin's comforting silence, Corkus' stupid jokes which made everyone laugh anyway. This Guts remembers as he leans against the railing on the deck, watching Schierke make a ball of light out of nothing, to the delight of the fairies and Farnese, whose gaze flickers towards Guts once, shyly. Guts raises an eyebrow at her, then turns to look where Caska (at the sight of her, his heart feels a twinge of pain, would he ever stop feeling guilty or angry about what happened?) is, leaning against the railing on the other side of the ship, her long black hair throwing against her face as he laughs in delight. The winds are strong and there's a storm brewing in the horizon (isn't there always?), but Guts lets himself take a deep breath and enjoy a moment of calm, it lasting for as long as a heartbeat.

And his thoughts, his traitorous thoughts drift back into his former friend. He hasn't thought of Griffith for weeks now or months, he's not sure how much time has passed anymore. Guts has had his hands full of everything else but now that some of that has been cleared away, he begins to think of Griffith. There's still anger, of course there is, and bloodthirst and need for vengeance but most of all, it's betrayal that makes him bite his cheek and shift in his place, annoyed. The last time he saw Griffith, it was in the midst of memories for their lost comrades (comrades for Guts, pawns for Griffith), swords stuck in the snow like markers for graves that hold no bodies.

There had been no mockery in Griffith's voice then, he had sounded as he sounded before, a bit amused like the world was his playground. Guts had heard nothing then, from the blood rushing to his brain and rage making him see red. How dare you live again, his mind had screeched, "Why did you come here?" were the words his mouth came up with. Griffith had smiled, a shadow of that playful grin he had thrown around before.   
"To see you," had been his former friend's answer. 

Guts presses a finger to his temple and rubs, bringing himself back to the now. It was no use in dwelling in the pure lack of emotions in Griffith's eyes. One day he would put a sword through that white-covered stomach and be done with it. One day he would gain revenge for the sacrifices of his fallen comrades, even when his mind is telling him that it's no use. There'll be no peace for you even then. Guts shakes the slivers of doubt from himself and turns his back to gaze upon the dark sea.   
"I'll kill you," he says quietly to himself. He doesn't know why he feels like Griffith is already dead, gone behind bat wings and screams of the dying hawks.


End file.
